


all I want is to be your harbor

by suzukiblu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Omega Sam Wilson, Pining, Post-Black Panther (2018), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Relationship, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 22:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: It’s been seventy years since Bucky took an omega out and he has no idea how to apply modern dating standards to his life. Being in Wakanda has not helped, due to the whole “entirely different culture” thing. Being several thousand miles away from the omega hewantsto take out has helped even less.“You look good, Buck,” Steve says from the tablet screen, and Bucky pretends not to be creeping on the little glimpse of Sam Wilson standing off to the side that he can see. Sam’s talking to Wanda about something. He’s not paying any attention to Steve--or, by extension, him. He looksdamngood in those jeans.“I feel alright,” he says, like an entirely normal alpha who is entirely focused on this conversation.





	all I want is to be your harbor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jen_chan13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jen_chan13/gifts).



> Written for jen_chan13, who wanted ABO and Bucky, a.k.a. two of my greatest weaknesses.

It’s been seventy years since Bucky took an omega out and he has no idea how to apply modern dating standards to his life. Being in Wakanda has not helped, due to the whole “entirely different culture” thing. Being several thousand miles away from the omega he _wants_ to take out has helped even less. 

“You look good, Buck,” Steve says from the tablet screen, and Bucky pretends not to be creeping on the little glimpse of Sam Wilson standing off to the side that he can see. Sam’s talking to Wanda about something. He’s not paying any attention to Steve--or, by extension, him. He looks _damn_ good in those jeans. 

“I feel alright,” he says, like an entirely normal alpha who is entirely focused on this conversation. “Not so . . . hollowed out.” 

“I’m glad,” Steve says, giving him a soft look that gets him _actually_ focusing on the conversation again. “How’s Wakanda?” 

“Eventful,” Bucky says, rubbing his jaw. “T’challa’s got some family issues.” 

“Family issues?” Steve frowns. 

“Long story,” Bucky says. “I was asleep for most of it. How’s . . . wherever the hell you are this week?” 

“Boring,” Steve says, mouth quirking. “Nobody’s tried to kill us in days.” 

“Yeah, what a shame,” Bucky says. He’s gone several weeks without anyone trying to kill him, personally, and it’s honestly the best he’s felt in _decades_. Maybe that’s just the novelty factor, though. “What are you even supposed to do with yourself?” 

“You know how it goes,” Steve says, and of course he does. It’s been a while, but he remembers the waiting between missions. The waiting was the best and the worst part, depending on the day. 

Depending on the year. 

They talk a little while longer, and Sam stays mercifully out of frame, and Bucky acts like a normal alpha who isn’t nursing a stupid crush from half a hemisphere away. It’s fine. It’s normal. It’s _good_ , even, because he’s missed Steve more than he even knew he could miss somebody. Steve is some vital thing in him that he lost, and he spent _decades_ missing it. Steve is _pack_. Having him back is more than he deserves. 

A lot of things are more than Bucky deserves. Like pretty, modern omegas who don’t even like him that much as a person, much less as any kind of object of affection. 

It’s really unfortunate how negative all his default thought processes are these days. 

Steve hangs up, and Bucky leans back with a sigh. 

.

.

.

Bucky’s life is pretty good, honestly, if nothing like he ever would’ve expected from his . . . retirement? Decommissioning? 

Temporary respite, more likely. But it’s a respite he’ll take any day, this quiet and peaceful piece of a place that he can be _sure_ HYDRA’s never touched. He doesn’t get out much, and he doesn’t much want to, but it’s a safe and hidden space where no one wants anything from him. 

It won’t last forever, so he’s going to enjoy it while he’s got it. 

He can’t _let_ it last forever, knowing Steve’s still out there fighting. What kind of packmate would he be, if he did? 

.

.

.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sam Wilson says when Bucky’s expecting Steve, and he hopes to high hell he doesn’t look as startled as he feels. Steve was supposed to call him, though--he picked up the tablet expecting Steve, not his gorgeous friend who he tried to murder once. Actually, Bucky’s a little vague on that time period, but he’s pretty sure it was more than once. And admittedly, Steve has several gorgeous friends he was technically involved in trying to murder. 

“The hell?” he asks, like an idiot. 

“Nice to see you too, man,” Sam says dryly. “Steve’s concussed. Wanda and Nat are arguing him into not looking at any screens for a while.” 

“I could just turn off the camera,” Bucky says. 

“Like he wouldn’t _look_ at you,” Sam snorts. Bucky feels an odd warmth at the thought, even though it’s just Steve being an idiot. 

“That’s why I said _I’d_ turn it off,” he says. “Or just hit him over the head again, you’ll have more luck with that then trying to get him to actually listen.” 

“Can’t imagine where you’d get that idea,” Sam says. “Can’t imagine where anyone would, _Rogers_ ,” he yells over his shoulder. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Steve says from somewhere off-screen in that tone of voice that means he absolutely is _not_ fine and knows that the people he’s talking to know it. 

“He’s concussed,” Sam informs Bucky again. “Took a car to the head.” 

“An entire car?” Bucky can’t help asking. 

“More like a truck, to be honest,” Sam says. “Although it actually came away more dented than he did, so technically I guess he won.” 

“That sounds like the kind of excuse he’d make,” Bucky says, and Sam laughs. Bucky’s so startled he nearly drops the tablet. He’d blame it on being down a hand, but he’s never made Sam _laugh_ before. That’s--something. That’s . . . _something_. 

“Maybe so,” Sam says, still smiling. Bucky feels oddly warm again, but in a very different way. He tries not to concentrate too obviously on the feeling. It’s--it’s a lot, feeling like that again. It’s been a while. 

He’s also not sure he deserves it, after everything he’s done. 

“Definitely so,” he says, and Sam laughs again. 

.

.

.

The day is bright and sunny and Bucky spends most of the morning in the market. He sticks out as a stranger, as someone no one here really knows--something obvious, something everyone sees, the opposite of a ghost. Something witnessed. 

He doesn’t really need to dawdle as much as he does, but it feels good to be seen again. 

He goes home--he guesses he should call it home, anyway--he goes home with food for the next few days, a couple of books written in a language he’s still learning, and a new game for the handheld Shuri gave him. She said games would help him pick up Wakandan faster. Since the alternate option is talking to more people, he’s been following her advice. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to people, he just doesn’t trust himself like he used to. He used to be _good_ with people. He was always good with people. 

He was always good with guns, too. 

There’s no comparison, but there’s still something there that makes it hard for him to have a chat with the nice beta at the fruit stand without worrying she’s going to start listing off--

_longing._

_rusted_

_furnace--_

No. HYDRA’s never been here. HYDRA never knew there _was_ anything here, and even if it had, who in Wakanda would ever join it? He’s safe. 

He might not be safe to be around, though, so he never spends very long at market. Shuri says the old code words won’t work anymore--and she rattled them off quick and fearless, like they meant nothing, and they _did_ nothing--but if there are other words, other codes, other traps in his mind . . . 

Shuri says there aren’t, and he knows he has to trust her. Trust is just harder to come by than it used to be. 

Still, if he doesn’t put it in someone . . . what’s he going to do, stay hiding out here forever? Never face anyone he’s wronged? Never make up for what he’s done? 

He has to make up for what he’s done. 

He has to do a lot of things, but not yet. 

.

.

.

“Still concussed?” Bucky asks. 

“Severely,” Sam confirms, resting his chin in his hand. “He says to say hi. And also that he’s fine and can pick up his own damn calls, but since he fainted this morning I think we all know better than that.” 

“Fainted?” Bucky frowns, a little concerned. 

“He’s fine,” Sam says, waving him off. “Ironically. He really just needs rest. Got any old tips or tricks for that?” 

“Sit on him,” Bucky says, and Sam laughs. 

“Man, he can _bench-press_ me,” he says. “I don’t think that one’s gonna work.” 

“It didn’t work so great before the serum either, to be honest,” Bucky says. Steve’d been a determined little bastard, the kind of alpha other people laughed at and Bucky could only hope to be as good as. He’d been doing his best to be as good an alpha as Steve Rogers since before they’d been old enough to rut. It’s no different now, eighty or ninety years along from the first time he’d looked at the other and seen how much _good_ was bursting out of him. 

He’d never understood why he could never find an omega who saw what he saw in the guy. 

“Figures,” Sam says, and Bucky thinks--Sam would be good for Steve, he knows it. He’s never gotten that vibe off them, though. He wonders whatever happened to Peggy’s handsome blonde alpha niece; Steve hasn’t mentioned her since they’ve been talking again, and Bucky doesn’t feel sure enough of himself to ask things like that anymore. 

He wants to feel that sure of himself again, at least with Steve. With more than just Steve, though, because he knows with Steve it’s going to come back. He can _feel_ it coming back, with Steve. 

He doesn’t know what he feels about Sam Wilson, except that he wants to feel more of it; except that he wants the other around. He’s not disappointed to miss a couple calls with Steve, if it means he gets to talk to Sam like this. It’s a hell of a sight better than getting webbed up in an airport with him. 

It’s not a very alpha-like thought, maybe, but he wants to just dig out a safe little den and curl up in it with the other and not let him leave until they’ve both had a full night’s sleep and everything outside’s gone away. So maybe it’s a _very_ alpha-like thought, actually. 

Kind of an optimistic one too, considering he still hasn’t been able to have a conversation with the guy about pretty much anything but Steve. 

Bucky misses dates. He’d love to take Sam on one. Go dancing, get dinner, see a show--any of those. Who knows if dating even involves any of those things anymore, though; his “get caught up on the century” primer didn’t include much about dating etiquette. Probably they’d assumed he wouldn’t be thinking about anything like that yet. Probably he _shouldn’t_ be thinking about anything like that yet. 

But . . . 

“Steve, I swear to god,” Sam says, holding the tablet over his head in a presumable attempt to keep it out of Steve’s hands, and Bucky feels warm and stupid and a little dreamy, like all the best times he’s gotten spun over someone. 

“Good luck with that,” he says, not really sure which one of them he’s talking to. 

Himself, probably. 

.

.

.

Shuri offers him a new arm with some slightly unsettling upgrades. Bucky doesn’t really see the point, upgrades or no. 

.

.

.

“Hey,” Steve says. 

“How’s that concussion treating you?” Bucky asks dryly. Steve chuckles, and it hurts a little to listen to. Not that long ago, that was a sound he was never going to get to hear again. 

.

.

.

They show up at his door with no warning, because of course they do, and Bucky can just _feel_ his mother rolling over in her grave at his total lack of hospitality. In his defense, he doesn’t exactly have nice china to set out. 

Steve hugs him, and he hugs him back; clings a little tight, maybe, but that’s no one’s business but his and his pack alpha’s. Steve takes his time about scenting him, too. Natasha inclines her head in greeting, Wanda gives a little wave, and Sam smirks at him, which Bucky has to valiantly pretend isn’t enough to make him feel a little lightheaded. Sam smells like caramel corn, burnt sweet and sticky and oh so tempting. He must be the most delicious-smelling omega Bucky knows, and he wants to get down on his knees and fucking _lick_ him. 

It’s very distracting. 

He’s a grown-ass alpha who can _handle_ the presence of delicious-smelling omegas, though, so he invites them all in and acts like a normal person who didn’t just make the rookie mistake of shutting himself in a small space with, again, the most delicious-smelling omega he knows, god _dammit_ , Barnes. He can literally never tell anyone he likes Sam now, because they will think back to this moment and they will _know_. 

“Nice digs. Very cozy,” Sam says casually, an amused little tilt at the corner of his mouth. Bucky _suffers_. 

“Sorry, I don’t have that many wanted vigilantes over,” he says, hoping he sounds normal. “I’ll have to put an addition on. Maybe a nice birdcage.” 

“Not a doghouse?” Sam asks. 

“Not really my style,” Bucky says. Of _course_ somebody told them about the “White Wolf” thing. Of course. 

Better than still going by “the Winter Soldier”, he supposes. 

“Claws in, boys,” Natasha says dryly, but she’s smirking. Bucky really doesn’t want to know what she’s reading off this conversation. Just--for his peace of mind, he doesn’t want to know. And oh, god, Steve’s looking at him like he’s trying to figure him out, and he _really_ doesn’t need _that_. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but what are you all doing here?” he says. “What’s wrong?” 

Natasha’s smirk widens, Sam snickers, and Wanda hides a smile. Steve--looks embarrassed, mostly. 

“Definitely not checking up on you,” Sam says. “Our illustrious leader is _sure_ you’re fine and we don’t need to.” 

“We were in the area,” Steve says. 

“We were not,” Natasha says. 

“And I missed you,” Steve says, _eyeing_ Sam and Natasha. 

“Oh,” Bucky says, blinking at him. Somehow that option hadn’t occurred to him. “I missed you too.” 

“You’re doing okay here?” Steve says, his expression softening. “You’re not feeling penned in or anything?” 

“They don’t keep me in a freezer anymore so no, not really,” Bucky says. “Big fan of not being kept in a freezer, personally.” 

“Yeah, not my favorite experience either,” Steve says, smiling wryly at him. 

“Whatever, yours was the size of a _plane_ ,” Bucky snorts. “Might as well have had flight attendants offering you a drink and pillow.” 

“Sadly, it was a little low on the pillows,” Steve says. “I woke up with the worst crick in my neck.” 

They laugh. Bucky’s heart throbs painfully, because Steve has been pack to him his whole life and he _lost_ him. He lost him and now he has him back, and now he can just show up to visit with his pretty burnt-sugar-sweet friends like it’s nothing, like it’s easy, like there hasn’t been seventy years of loss and pain and mistakes in there. 

It’s more than he deserves, but if he can have it, he’s damn sure going to take it. 

.

.

.

They talk for a long time, longer than Bucky’s expecting. Just having _time_ is still such a rare, precious thing, even when he has nothing to do with it. When it’s Steve filling it, other people filling it, it’s even better. It’s so different from having a handful of hours to complete a mission before oblivion comes back for him. 

His mind and memory were so warped as the Winter Soldier. He never understood what was happening to him, even as he perfectly understood what he was doing to other people. 

“Need a hand?” Sam asks, and Bucky forgets what he was thinking about and looks up from the abandoned cups he’s collecting; blinks at him in confusion at the question. Sam smells so sweet he can’t think of a thing to say. “. . . okay, I actually did not mean that the way it sounded, for once.” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky says. He hadn’t even thought about it, honestly. “I’ve got it.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, and doesn’t question him. It’s nice, Bucky thinks. Some people fuss over him a bit too much, either because they know his story or because of the arm, and he likes that Sam just accepts what he says. It’s probably a hold-over from being a counsellor, he assumes, but that doesn’t change the fact that he likes it. 

“Thanks anyway,” he says. The others are outside, watching the sunset or making small talk or planning an infiltration mission, or some combination of all three. He can hear little bits and pieces of what they’re saying, but not much. So far he’s leaning towards infiltration mission. 

“Sure,” Sam says, leaning against the doorframe. He glances out towards the others, but only glances; he looks back almost immediately. Bucky feels warm and stupid with his eyes on him and really hopes this is not going to be the time he drops the cups. He sets them aside to wash later, not really wanting to do it when the alternative is spending time with people he rarely ever sees. Though if Sam was going to stay and watch, well--he might consider it, in that case. 

“That concussion,” he says. “All healed up?” 

“As super-soldierly as possible,” Sam confirms. 

“Good,” Bucky says. He wants to keep talking, but he’s not sure what to talk about. His mouth twists, and an awkward silence falls. At least, it feels awkward on his end; maybe Sam doesn’t mind. 

It _really_ feels awkward, though. He’d look for something else to clean up, but his den’s not that big a place. 

“So, what’s it like here?” Sam says, his eyes trailing around the room. Part of Bucky kind of wishes they were trailing over him. The rest of him jumps on the topic as something to talk about. 

“It’s a good place,” he says. Honestly, he could go off for a few _hours_ about what a good place Wakanda is, but that’s probably a bit more than Sam’s looking for. “Not really used to it yet, to be honest.” 

“No?” Sam glances back to him. Bucky’s chest tightens a little. 

“I remember things from being--” _the asset,_ he almost says, but catches himself in time--“the Winter Soldier. And I remember the war. I’ve seen a lot. Wakanda is like nothing I’ve ever even _heard_ of. Something out of a science fiction magazine.” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild,” Sam agrees, his tone turning briefly distant. He looks out at the others again. Bucky wonders what he’s thinking. He really doesn’t know Sam very well at all, just knows he’s pretty as hell and his pheromones smell better than anything and he’s got about as much sense as Steve. He’ll let literal strangers into his den as easy as if they were pack and risk his life on the word of those literal strangers, and he’ll treat _him_ like he’s just Steve’s weird friend, not the most prolific political assassin of the past century or a tormented POW. 

He is both those things, of course. Just, Sam doesn’t treat him that way. 

“How long are you staying?” Bucky says, really hoping the answer is going to be “long enough for you to figure out how to ask me out”. Preferably not in that exact phrasing. 

“Not sure,” Sam says with a shrug. “T’challa said to make ourselves at home, but we’ve got work to do. Somewhere between one and two weeks, I’m guessing, barring any global emergencies or Stark finally giving us a call.” 

“It’d have to be pretty bad if Stark called,” Bucky says, grimacing slightly at the thought and feeling a brief twinge of guilt. It’s not his fault, but it’s his fault. 

“Yeah, we’d definitely be leaving in that case,” Sam says. “Possibly with reinforcements, depending on how much trouble the planet was in.” 

“Sounds about right,” Bucky says. He walks over closer to Sam. Sam doesn’t lean back or move away. He wonders what the other honestly thinks of him, when it comes down to it. He probably doesn’t like him--in any way, much less the way Bucky would like him to--but maybe if they knew each other better . . . “How, uh, how’s the avenging going?” 

“Very black ops,” Sam says. “Not really my usual thing, to be honest.” 

“I do remember you dropping down out of the sky in the middle of the day and kicking me in the back of the head,” Bucky says. 

“You weren’t exactly holding up the black ops standard either,” Sam says wryly. 

“It was my last mission,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Didn’t matter if anyone saw me.” 

“Wait, what?” Sam wrinkles his nose at him. “What do you mean, ‘last mission’?” 

“They weren’t going to need me anymore, with the helicarriers,” Bucky clarifies. “Probably would’ve just put me back in cryo and stuck me in some basement somewhere. Or killed me, I guess.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Sam says after a moment, frowning faintly. “Huh. Not sure why that pisses me off, considering how many other people they were planning on killing first.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly the main concern there,” Bucky says, still oddly flattered that Sam would care about something like that. If anyone died on those helicarriers, it should’ve been him. Instead it was a lot of SHIELD agents who didn’t deserve it and a lot of HYDRA agents who _really_ deserved it. So alright, maybe the HYDRA agents before him. But at least he should’ve been a close second, considering the other options. 

“You were pretty up there, for Steve,” Sam says. 

“He did what he had to,” Bucky says. “The fucking idiot.” 

Sam laughs. It’s not really a happy laugh, but Bucky feels a little flustered at the sound of it anyway. 

“That’s him, yeah,” Sam says. Bucky kind of wants to kiss him. And by “kind of” he means “very badly”. He doesn’t know how he feels about Sam in his space, getting his scent all over his den and offering to help him with little things he doesn’t need help with and standing in his doorway all bright and pretty and sunset-lit. 

It has been a _damn_ long time since he took an omega out. 

He wonders if Sam would mind that. He wonders if Sam would have his back and trust him to have his, and if they could maybe fight together again someday. If they could be on the same side in more than just the most superficial way. 

He wonders if he’s too attached to somebody he barely knows. 

Except he knows Sam is the kind of person to treat strangers like pack and put his trust in other people and tell HYDRA to go to hell, so . . . 

“What’s that look about?” Sam asks, and Bucky really, _really_ wants to kiss him. 

“Nothing,” he says, because it really isn’t anything. Not yet, anyway. “You said a week or two?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a nod. “It’ll be cool, I’ve been wanting to see more of the place.” 

“I need to go to the market tomorrow,” Bucky lies. “You wanna come with?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, grinning at him in a way that makes him feel weak. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
